


Daddy Issues

by DakenGirl



Category: All New X-Men - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies)
Genre: All New X-Men, Anal Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Uncanny X-Men - Freeform, Underage Sex, X-Men Origins: Wolverine (movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DakenGirl/pseuds/DakenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for: All New X-Men, Uncanny X-Men (comics); X-Men Origins: Wolverine (movie).</p><p>AU set during current run of All New X-Men and Uncanny X-Men, in which Daken is alive and sees Wolverine interacting with the time-displaced teenage O5 from All New X-Men. Angry that Wolverine has forgiven teenage Cyclops for adult (Uncanny X-Men) Cyclops' crimes, he kidnaps teenage Cyclops to punish him.</p><p>Warnings: M/M rape of underage character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Issues

Daken had been watching for days now with growing rage. He no longer flinched when his father turned to a powderpuff over teenage girls, he got through that by imagining that all Wolverine really wanted was to fuck them – he just didn’t know it yet. But this – this was too much.

There had been one glorious moment when he had thought Daddy was going to fillet the teenage version of Cyclops right before his eyes. The claws were out, the air was hot with rage, and it would have been so deliciously cruel, such a vicious injustice to stab that little prick in the neck for something he hadn’t even done yet. The boy had still been disorientated by being dragged through time, not to mention told that he had grown up evil and needed to fix it, everyone looking at him with suspicion and hatred, so, to die then and there, scared and bewildered, balls barely dropped, that would have been delicious. Daken had been cheering Daddy on. 

Logan, however, was always a disappointment to a growing boy, and he’d pulled back, leaving Daken distinctly dissatisfied. Still, at least he’d snarled at Babyclops and treated him like dirt – that had been fun.

And then…

And then…

Day by day, Daken had had to watch it: growing respect, the beginnings of affection, and he had realized what he was watching here – the Scott Summers Logan had always wanted, not the privileged kid embedded in the heart of the X-Men, leaving Logan the perennial outsider, but the Scott Summers no one would eat lunch with, the Scott Summers who was just a stupid, naïve kid, so far out of his depth and with nothing familiar to cling to. Logan liked this version of Cyclops. Maybe he didn’t do as he was told, but he didn’t try to give Logan orders, there was, underneath the regular acts of disobedience – which Logan liked as proof of spirit in any case – an acceptance that Logan was a grown-up who should be listened to. Daken had to watch the father who had never loved him – whatever Logan said, Daken knew he wasn’t loved – spending time with teenage Scott Summers, and it turned out all the old affection he’d felt for the grown-up version that had seemed to wither right away, had just been dammed up somewhere, waiting for a chance to break out. And here was this red-eyed brat with his stoicism in the face of mistrust and dislike, his quiet determination to make amends, and Logan falling for his goody two shoes boy scout crap all over again. Getting fond of him, despite his best intentions. Making Little Scott Summers the substitute for the son he didn’t love.

 

Daken took the red-eyed brat from his bed in the night. It was easy. He used chloroform so Logan could pick up the sickly stench of it and know at once the boy wasn’t just off doing something disobedient, but taken by an enemy. He wanted Logan to think about that scrawny teenager, who barely knew which way was up yet, in the hands of an enemy. A few sniffs and Logan would know which enemy, too, and his heart would turn over because he knew what Daken was capable of, and he would be hoping that Daken had some inner goodness that no one had plumbed yet. He would be hoping that Babyclops would get under Daken’s defenses, the way he had got under Logan’s. He would be wrong.

 

The kid woke up and puked – tried to move his hands and realized they were bound, tried to move his probably pounding head to feel if he was wearing a visor, realized he was blindfolded over the ruby quartz headset that meant he wouldn’t be using his beams. Puked again. Shifted back from the puke as well as he was able. Tried to work out what to do next.

Leaning against the wall in the drab little maid bedroom, Daken watched with interest. The kid tilted his head to one side, trying to listen, trying to work out if he was alone. Even though his hands were behind him, he felt his way cautiously, fingers stretching to touch the carpet – that made him pause for a moment. He sniffed the air and Daken guessed, even with his weak senses, he could smell that this wasn’t an industrial place, even if the carpet hadn’t tipped him off, the kid could probably hear the sound of the air conditioner running. The kid kept edging backwards and backed into the bed. He flinched then felt his way cautiously along it, trying to work out what it was; he grabbed hold of the edge of the divan and tried to lever his way up, his legs were weak and shaky, but he was very light – Daken had been surprised by how scrawny the kid was when he slung him over his shoulder – and he was strong for his build, so he managed to haul himself up on the second attempt, felt his way cautiously, and then sat down on the bed.

The kid said quietly, “Is anyone there?”

Daken elbowed himself off the wall, unscrewing the cap from the bottle of water as he did so. “No one you want to be alone with, Babyclops.”

The kid was listening intently, trying to place his voice. “I don’t know you.”

“You know my Daddy. He’s kind of your Daddy too, right now, except he’s nicer to you.” Daken held the bottled water to his mouth. “Rinse and spit.”

“Spit where?”

He laughed. “On the floor. Do it.”

The boy obeyed but the way he screwed his face up suggested that it went against all of his orderly little principals.

“Again.”

He obeyed. Daken didn’t let that fool him into thinking the boy was going to be no trouble. He could hear his little brain ticking over, collecting data, assimilating and rejecting possible strategies. Everyone who knew Scott Summers was currently bitching about how much he’d changed from the noble boy scout of his youth into the guy who’d sacrificed his principals for the sake of his species, pissing off everyone who had once loved him in the process, but he was still a strategist, still a planner, that had never changed. Reverse engineer Cyclops, mutant terrorist, and you got this little bastard with his whirring little brain, seeking weaknesses, mistakes, ways to get away.

Daken said conversationally, “You think you’re special. You were selected. You were chosen. All the mutants out there and Xavier took you in, adopted you, made you the leader, but you’re still just a dumb kid whose feathers are still wet so anything you think of, I’ll already have thought of it first, and I will punish you in ways you can’t even imagine if you try to escape.”

The boy said, “You must be Daken. Logan’s son.”

He was wrong-footed because he had never expected to be mentioned. Surely, Logan wouldn’t…? He felt betrayed and angry that a conversation had taken place in which he featured. Then he realized the kid was probably winging it from something someone else had told him, probing Daken’s defenses. 

He clipped the collar onto him. “They put one of these on grown-up you in the prison cell. I heard they tortured him with it. I heard he screamed. You a screamer, too, Babyclops?”

“Sometimes,” the boy said, matter-of-factly, “if something hurts enough.”

His heart was fast but his tone was level. Daken wouldn’t have known he was scared if he hadn’t been able to smell it on him. An unwilling spasm of admiration tried to get through. He ruthlessly suppressed it.

“I’m much better-looking than my father,” Daken said. “Just so you know. You won’t be seeing me, but you can picture him in your head while we’re getting acquainted – only younger and way, way hotter.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to have a visual.”

“The collar hurts like this.” He pressed the button and the kid was a screamer, although he choked it down fast, doubled up on the bed, trying to suppress the agony. Daken lifted his finger and the kid tried not to sob with the relief. “I’m so much stronger than you that we might as well be a different species. I know all your moves and none of them are good enough. I stabbed adult you in the thigh once with a really good sword. I liked it. I liked the way he squirmed and bled and I liked shoving a hard thing into his flesh. I always meant to pick up on that experience and…expand it for both of us. Sins of omission, eh?”

“So, you’re Canadian too?”

“I’m Japanese. I’m gorgeous, incidentally. You’ll be glad to know that later. I’d let you touch my ink, but it would be a waste with your eyes closed. And your eyes will be staying closed. From here on in you’re a blind kid in a strange environment, out of his depth.”

“Do we have to stay here for the getting-to-know-each-other part of this relationship? I don’t know if you noticed but this room smells like puke.”

“Oh no, not at all. This is just some back bedroom where they stash the maids. We get the master suite.”

Daken took him by the collar of his jim-jams and dragged him – stumbling blindly, trying to get his bearings, trying to collect data, trying to plan an escape route – along to the great big penthouse that looked out upon the city. He liked this address. He’d had to kill a few people to get it, but now he was here it was worth every drop of blood he’d spilled. He felt like a king surveying a kingdom, master of all he surveyed. Especially the boy whose collar he was gripping.

He said, “The game’s very simple. I do cruel things to you. Daddy finds out. He cries. He cries once because he let himself get fond of you and now you’re all broken, and twice because he hoped there was some good in me, and now he realizes that there isn’t, because he couldn’t hurt you, and I could.”

The boy said, “Is that it? It sounds like a pretty short game, with you being so much stronger than me that we might as well be a different species. Isn’t that how you put it?” He was so scared. His heart was racing and he was trying to take deep, even breaths to steady it. Trying to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth and not panic, even though every instinct he had was telling him that he was going to suffer and then he was going to die. 

“I was disappointed at first – grown-up you is so very pretty, and you’re all…undefined. You haven’t grown into that bone structure yet. But, now I’ve got you under the light, I can see you’re pretty enough. I can definitely get a boner for your level of pretty. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Oh, that’s good. Sixteen’s young. Logan will be shocked by that. You’re not just legally a minor, you even look like a kid. Have your balls even dropped yet?”

The boy swallowed. “Yes.”

Daken checked and the boy cringed from his touch and the fear scent spiked higher. “There they are, but they haven’t been there long, have they? You’re still just a baby. Don’t you think that’s nicely depraved – sodomizing a sixteen year old against his will? Especially a little skinny thing like you.”

“I’m not sure ‘nicely’ is the word I’d choose.”

“It’s good you’re still trying to make me see you as a person, still engaging me in conversation. Always smart to try to keep a dialog going. Did you get told that or did you learn it the hard way?”

“Bit of both.”

Daken leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You don’t need to pretend with me, Babyclops. I can smell how scared you are. I love how scared you are. It’s delicious. It’s intoxicating. It makes me want to lick you all over so I can taste all that fear on your skin. Why don’t you try begging…?”

“It d-doesn’t work.”

Daken smiled at that little falter, that little breath hitch and stutter. The boy was scared and alone and he wanted to go home. Daken knew how that felt. Nothing ever followed that but pain. 

He teased the boy’s bangs straight so they hung down over the blindfold. “You ever sucked anyone off before?”

The gulping nod was unexpected. Daken frowned and gripped his shoulder. “When? You and McCoy get curious?”

“N-not my idea. Stryker called him ‘Victor’. It was on the Island.”

“Uncle Victor stuck his dick in your mouth?”

“He said it was that or take it…”

“Up the ass? Oh, you made a good choice there. You wouldn’t have walked away from Option B. Maybe crawled away on your hands and knees whimpering and bleeding, but definitely not walking. So, how did you do…?”

The boy was crying behind the blindfold; a bad memory walled up that had just broken through, freshly painful, and worse to follow. Daken tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Were you any good?”

“No! He said I was lousy. He said I was the worst lay he’d ever known.”

Daken wondered suspiciously if Uncle Victor had wimped out on the family honor, started feeling sorry for the spluttering little brat and pulled out before he made him choke on his come. “Well, you’d better get better fast if you don’t want me to switch that collar on again.”

“I don’t know how!”

“You’re going to learn. Everyone says you’re a fast learner, so this is where you get to prove them right or else you get to suffer indescribable agony. Your choice.” He flicked out his claws and cut the kid’s jammies to ribbons, running the blunt side of the claws over his skin as he did so, just so Babyclops knew he wasn’t screwing around. “It’s not like grown-up you didn’t learn how to do this, after all. I bet he’s so grateful to have a new daddy substitute that every minute Cyclops isn’t on TV he’s down on his knees sucking Magneto’s dick. I know Wolverine thinks it. I bet he hates it but just can’t stop thinking about it. He probably thinks about it at night, under the covers, with his right hand getting busy, until he comes, roaring, in a towering jizz-cloud of rage.”

 

It would have been easier to get through the day’s lesson if the stupid kid would just get hard. Daken didn’t understand how a sixteen year old _wasn’t_ getting hard, but Babyclops was too busy trying not to cry and trying not to beg to focus on the clever things that Daken was doing to his scrawny little body. He cuffed him impatiently around the back of the head. “Concentrate!”

“I don’t like it,” the kid said pathetically.

“Well, learn to fucking like it! It’s a mouth on your dick – what’s not to like?” The panic scent billowed up as Daken’s breath warmed his fear-shriveled little prick and he finally realized what he was scared of. “I’m not going to bite it off, you dumb – no biting, okay? No claws. No teeth. No slicing off your balls or anything you need to piss out of, okay? Word of honor.”

The kid shuddered but the fear scent did dial down a notch. Daken stroked his hand over the kid’s cowering package more gently, with warm, soothing strokes. Conversationally, he said, “I always thought my Dad wanted to fuck adult you – just so they both knew who was really the alpha dog. I think if Big You had just let Wolverine fuck him up that uptight ass, just once, so it was out of his system, they’d still be friends today. Repression's very bad for the id, you know. Funny thing is, I don’t think Big You would even have minded that much – guy’s been through so much sick shit over the years, he probably wouldn’t even notice a dick up his ass. For all I know, he’s had dozens of them shoved up there over the years. Not like he’s going to put that in his little mutant freedom broadcasts, is it? ‘Don’t oppress mutants, it’s bad! And if you do it, me and my fucked-up fugitive friends will turn up and scold you! Coming to you from some evil villain’s lair where I’m currently tied up, taking it up the ass as usual’.” The kid gave a shivering sort of sob but he wasn’t panicking now, he was just unhappy at a relentless unremitting level of fear, helplessness and despair.

Daken said, “Sure you don’t want to try begging and pleading? You could point out that you haven’t done anything to me and you’re just a stupid, scared kid who never even wanted to get dragged out of his own timeline.”

“It wouldn’t help,” the kid said softly.

“You’re smart. It wouldn’t. Open your mouth. I’m going to put my finger in it and you’re going to suck it, you’re going to take it in as deep as you can and you’re going to make it really wet. Trust me on this, it’s in your best interests to do it right.”

The boy was clumsy and scared, and Daken wasn’t too sure that he grasped the underlying principals, but he managed it, choking a bit, throat tightening up in fear. Daken pushed another finger in, and then a third. The boy had no saliva left by then, so he held the water bottle to his mouth again and told him to take small sips, swallow carefully, not choke. The boy obeyed. There was that strange jolt of recognition every now and then as if something Daken did or a scent or a body part reminded him of Wolverine, then the fear scent would drop, because the little prick trusted Wolverine. That was probably because they barely knew each other. Daken realized he could probably get the kid to trust him, too, given a week or so of sensory deprivation and a healthy dose of Stockholm Syndrome. He could get him to sexual attraction with one burst of pheromones but he held back. The kid wasn’t here to enjoy himself, after all. He thought about brainwashing him instead of just breaking him, turning him into an obedient little sex slave who did what he was told and followed Daken blindly, nice little puppy dog, sit, stay, heel. It was appealing but too long-term. Daken liked long-term, liked manipulation to grandmaster level, but he was on a clock, because Wolverine was really motivated right now to get his little son-substitute back, and he would be searching like a madman – a madman with a really good skill-set when it came to tracking down lost boys. Except for his own, of course, he’d never even looked for him.

Daken’s jaw tightened. The kid’s reluctant little prick was finally responding to all the bad touches it was getting and about damned time. “There you go – you’re not dead below the waist, after all. Now pay attention because there will be a test later.” He began to teach him the fundamentals, taking his time about it, playing with his scared little balls and his wincing little cock, licking and stroking and sucking, with the kid flinching from every new place and every new sensation like people hadn’t paid to have this done to them by Daken and come wailing gratefully when they got it. The kid’s body responded to the sensations, albeit reluctantly, but his headspace was wall to wall resistance. He didn’t want to be manfucked and he didn’t appreciate for an instant just what a great service he was getting for his more-or-less first time.

Daken lifted his head from the world’s most reluctantly aroused prick and said, “Talk about pearls before swine…”

As he bent back over the kid’s finally bobbing head, he licked his middle finger and slid it up into his ass. The kid clenched and whimpered like he’d used his whole fist. Daken said impatiently, “Christ on a crutch!” He moved between his cock and his ass with his skillful tongue, while the ungrateful brat just whimpered and squirmed and cried silently to himself. After ten minutes of nothing but suppressed whining, resistant squirming, and more silent salt tears, Daken was seriously pissed.

“Fine! You don’t want to be blown? Blow me – and get it right or I’ll put that collar charge on and leave it on.”

Daken endured the world’s worst blow job with what he considered commendable patience, the stupid kid had barely grasped the principals and although he got that his mouth was supposed to touch Daken’s cock his squirming disinclination to do so was all-too apparent.

“Uncle Victor was right about you – you’re useless.” He grabbed the boy by the hair and moved his head himself. “Lick, now suck, now lick, now suck, now relax your throat – no, that’s your gag reflex – suck, lick, use your tongue, you idiot, suck, suck, suck, deeper, take it deeper, stop coughing, suck…” He couldn’t even remember a time when this hadn’t been instinctive, and he knew for a fact that he had never been this lousy at it. Even coached every single step of the way, the kid had managed to make having one’s dick sucked a nagging, unsatisfactory experience that smelt of salt tears and reluctance and self-disgust.

He pulled out of the kid’s mouth furiously. “You useless little –!” The words spilled from him – that he could have forgiven Logan, even now, if he’d at least been using the teenage version of Cyclops to perform all the sex acts for him that the adult version never would. That would at least have made sense. Daken could have got behind that as the best kind of vengeance. He’d have helped Logan film it and sent the footage to Cyclops, hell, they could have uploaded it on YouTube and fucked his mutant revolution straight up the ass. But, no, this kid was such a sniveling, hopeless, pathetic, waste of fucking space in the bedroom that clearly no one had ever taught him a damned thing. So, Logan could suck Daken’s dick, because this was what his son was, this was what his abandonment had made him, he was someone who fucked scared whimpering teenage boys up their clenched virgin assholes. Let Logan suck on that – the fuckhead who’d forgiven this little shit for killing Xavier in five fucking minutes, who, probably, traitorously, still loved the adult version somewhere buried deep. If that were true, if that were fucking true, that the guy Logan swore up and down was his enemy now, if even Cyclops had a place in the heart that had no place for Daken, then, once he’d ripped this kid a new asshole, he was going to gut Babyclops with his claws and put his still-bleeding corpse in Logan’s bed.

The kid said in soft, awestruck tones, “Well, I see the anger management issues are hereditary.”

Daken grabbed the collar button and pressed it, then found himself wincing as the kid screamed, and angrily lifted his thumb from the button. “Shut up!”

The kid stayed still and quiet on the bed. Daken said, “No more Mister Nice Guy!” He flipped him over onto his knees and told him to stay still.

“That was you being nice…?” the kid breathed, shocked.

And then Daken spat on his hand, smeared saliva on his prick, and pressed in. The kid screamed. He choked that down pretty fast, and then it was just the sound of his sobbing breaths tearing out through his burning chest and the squelch-smack of Daken’s cock thrusting into him and Daken’s balls slapping against his ass, and it was pleasure, that was what this was, pounding Daddy’s sobbing, hurting, whimpering little bitch-boy into the mattress. He shifted his position, closed one hand in his hair and thrust his head down further, straightening out his spine, then held him by the left hip so he couldn’t pull away, and tried it harder. The kid was still crying and heroically choking down the sounds of pain, but the smell of it was coming off him like the stink of death from a corpse, it was choking Daken, like he was drowning in the stupid kid’s suffering. He tried a different angle, tried it slower, tried it shallow, tried it deep, tried it rapid, the kid just jolted under him any way that Daken made him jolt, helpless and completely under his command, with his bony little spine, his hips so narrow, and his body so undeveloped, hardly any real muscle tone yet, barely a person yet, barely more than a…child.

Daken pulled out and found he was gagging, no idea why, just needing to dry heave. His claws came out and he snarled, “I ought to kill you. I ought to fucking kill you right now.”

The kid said, in between sobbed breaths, oddly rational, “I don’t think either of us enjoyed that much, did we?”

Daken grabbed him and twisted him back down, head pushed into the pillows, ass presented, but he was still just a skinny little halfling, barely a boy, too far from being a man. He pushed in again and it made him shudder when the kid shuddered. “I’m doing this,” he told him savagely. “I’m making you take it. I’m making you pay for him loving you more.”

The boy was still crying but he got the words out between his pained wince at each of Daken’s angry thrusts, “I – get it. Trust me – I get it. You – want him – to love you – whatever – you do –”

“He doesn’t! He doesn’t! He never will!”

And he was so busy choking on the kid’s Daken-inflicted suffering that he didn’t hear or see or smell the danger until it was too late. He was fucking the kid, and it was hurting them both so damned much, and then metal-clawed pain came at him, out of nowhere, and drove itself into him, before he was hauled off, bleeding, lungs punctured, heart punctured, liver torn, spleen stabbed through, stabbed and stabbed over and over, and thrown into the mirrored cabinets to land in a bloody, sobbing, laughing heap, because of course it was like this, it was always like this.

From his bleeding, agonized, lung-bubbling place on the floor in a sea of broken glass, Daken watched the crazy-eyed madman who had just stabbed him countless times, rip off the torture collar and slice through the bonds then gather the naked kid on the bed into his arms so tenderly. He held him close and pressed his bearded face against the kid’s and said, “I’ve got you, Scott. You’re safe now. I’m going to take you home.”

The boy’s words were muffled through Wolverine skin and beard and his own sobs, as he clung to Wolverine like he was a life raft, but even with the sound of his severed arteries pounding in his ears, Daken could hear him: “Logan, tell him you still love him. Tell him you forgive him.”

Daken watched his father wrap the boy on the bed in a blanket and sweep him up into his arms, tenderly as a bride, holding him close, his huge arms a barrier between that boy and every danger in the world. And then, finally, his father was looking at him, not the reincarnation of the Scott Summers he’d once cared for, not his own personal do-over from the more innocent past, but right into Daken’s eyes.

Logan said, “I will never forgive him.” He carried the boy out of the bedroom and he didn’t look back.


End file.
